A Tempest of Shadows
by M0nk3ysRUs
Summary: Street orphan Santana Lop'ez wasn't supposed to have a destiny. It was thrust upon her the moment she saw him try to kill Brittany. And so Seveyl Uster began to mold her into the most dangerous killer the world had ever known. AU/Fantasy. Mainly Brittana.


_Street orphan Santana Lop'ez wasn't supposed to have a destiny, but it was reluctantly thrust upon her the moment she saw him try to kill Brittany. And so Seveyl Uster began to mold her into the most dangerous killer the world had ever known. AU/Fantasy. Brittana. Other pairings. Mature content, language, and sexual situations._

Author's Note: Fantasy fiction had always been a favorite genre of mine. Of course, I've never been confident or talented enough to post anything online, but I'll give it a shot. These ideas have been in the back of my brain for almost three years, and Glee has given me several perfect characters to incorporate into a fantasy world I've thought about for a while. Heavily inspired by Tolkein, Salvatore, Le Guin, and, especially, Brent Weeks.

Disclaimer: Glee and its affiliates are not mine. Neither is anything written by and under the copyrights of Brent Weeks.

**A Tempest of Shadows**

_**(1)**_

"Hey, wha-HEY!, get your ass back here!"

A small, scruffy body darted back and forth in the dank, dirty alley, a small bundle clutched in their arms.

"Fucking pockers, what the fuck did I say about stealing from my stall! When I get my hands on you I fucking swear you're gonna get it!"

The thief continued to sprint, losing the overweight fruit vendor quickly by jamming their tiny body into a small crevasse in a nearby wall. The man waddled by, belly heaving and cursing violently, quite a feat considering how hard he had been wheezing.

Santana Lop'ez struggled out of the niche she had shoved herself into and quickly scanned the area with her eyes, running off quickly when she sensed no immediate dangers. 'Ha, fat asshole thinks he can catch me.'

If Santana Lop'ez had been born anywhere else in Cyrra, she wouldn't have to steal for a living. She might have had parents who took care of her, and solid meals, and would grow up relatively normal. But Santana was born in Cinuth, somewhere in the seedy slums of Wernya to a mother who had probably been a prostitute and had abandoned her at birth. It was by pure luck that Emmania Pels'bery, the neighborhood laundress, had picked her up and dropped her off at the establishment of Madam S.

Santana, tying the bundle of food to her body, made a dash for the orphans' home as the sun showed signs of slipping beneath the horizon. It was never good to stay out after dark, especially in the Gentlemen's Quarters. Ironically, there was nothing gentlemanly going on in that area. The complete opposite, in fact.

The old orphanage building didn't really function as an orphanage. It was mainly where their little pocker gang would sleep, eat, and gather. Everyone came here without any family, so they sort of looked out for each other. There were about twelve kids to their group, ages ranging from 9 to 14, but everyone looked up to her and No'ah 'Puck' Puckerman because they were the oldest and could take the beatings.

Santana held her breath, pushing the door just enough to squeeze her body through, and tiptoed into the living area.

'Please, for Maker's sake, just let Royl be asleep,' she prayed feverishly. Royl Hayw'll was the goon that everyone answered to. He was bigger than all of them, and worked (on the lower end of the spectrum) for the Twelve Clans that practically ruled the city. Breathing easier as she padded across the stone floor, Santana made her way to the beds.

Right before she entered the sleeping room, a hand gripped her hard by the neck and yanked viciously.

"Where the fuck you think yer goin'?" Royl had been waiting up. She was pulled to face him, and before she could even answer, a backhand met her across the face. Knocked to the floor, Santana curled protectively around the small bundle tied to her front, making sure the ugly skell couldn't see it.

"You better had a good turnout if your ass is gonna be comin' home this late! The fuck were you doing, huh? Lemme see the goods!" Royl snarled, kicking her hard in the side. The dark haired girl knew from experience that it was better to stay quiet and block out the pain. He would get tired soon, the fat bitch.

All the other kids had woken up, dirt-smudged faces peering out helplessly from behind the grimy curtains that served as doors. Some of them looked away, wanting to help but knew they couldn't. Puck wasn't here, Madam S had ask him and Kurt to run errands at the brothels for the day. Even if he was here, though, not much he could do. Royl was a bastard. So they cringed and cried and crept guiltily back into the shadows, waiting for the pain to end.

Indeed, Royl was getting tired.

"Next time you come back here with some coins or else I'm fuckin' sendin' ya to Dausten Goolsby, see how you fuckin' like it there!"

With a last vicious kick to Santana's prone body, he lumbered off to his own bed upstairs. Dausten was the most sadistic pleasure seeker, and pleasure vendor, in Wernya. There were stories of girls sent to him who came out so broken that they barely survived a day or two before committing suicide. Even though Santana knew Madam S would never let it happen to the kids at the orphanage, she couldn't help the shiver of fear that ran through her when she thought about being sent to his area.

Santana got up slowly, wincing as pain shot up her side, but nothing was broken and she would heal. Royl was getting sloppy, but she knew he thrived on the fear more than physical torture. The beatings got more regular now, and she and Puck were the ones who got the worst of it. But that meant the younger kids, and Britt, didn't get beat too often.

Brittany S'pierce was only eleven, younger than Santana by two years and Puck by three. They didn't know her real name, because when she was sent to Madam S she didn't have a name, just freckles and dirty blonde hair that barely reached her tiny shoulders. Puck came up with Brittany because he thought it sounded pretty, and Santana shortened it to Britt because it sounded like bright, like the sun, and that was the perfect word to describe Brittany.

Brittany came over, teeth worrying her lower lip as she helped Santana limp to their bed, something they had shared ever since the blonde girl first came to the orphans' home.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help again," she whispered softly into Santana's ear. The dark haired girl smiled and shook her head, lifting her head to look at big blue eyes.

"You and I both know if you did he'd only hurt both of us. Don't worry about it." She untied the bundle attached to her body and splayed out the day's spoils. The loaf of bread was kind of squished, the apples a little bruised, but compared to what they usually had to eat – scraps, sometimes nothing – this was a veritable feast. They ate in silence, and Brittany put some bread away for the younger kids who weren't able to make off with something from the market. Santana saved a couple apples in the scraped out hole at the far end of the wall for Puck and Kurt.

Brushing crumbs off the sheer blanket they shared, Santana laid on the cold stone floor, shifting on her side before pulling Brittany to her body. The other girl sank into Santana's heat, wrapping her arms familiarly around a slim waist and leaving a kiss on a dark chin before the two drifted off to sleep.

XXX

"I ain't agreed to none of that!"

"Well what the fuck choice do we have?"

"I say we fucking kill 'em all!"

Madam S sighed as she sank into the wine red cushion seats. The shouting had been going on for hours, and they had yet to come to an agreement. Every time the heads of the Twelve Clans met, they would argue for hours on end before someone stormed off, nothing accomplished. She rubbed her temples, huffing as a migraine slowly made itself known.

Cinuth was a haven for criminals. It hadn't always been this way, but in the aftermath of the Dragon Wars the city was ripe for violence. Small time thieves worked themselves into groups, contending with the pleasure vendors who emerged, and small time scam runners threw themselves into the mix. They established twelve dominant clans who fought constantly, with twelve clan heads struggling for power. Sandeth 'Sandy' Ryerson was a facetious pig of a sodomizer, truly a threat to no one but himself, but he had established a base of power in the smuggling trade. Kenzo 'Ken' Tanaka, originally from Shinza, led a legion of muscle-bound goons who worked as mercenaries. Like his henchmen, the man had less brain than brawn, always prone to bouts of violence. They, like several other heads, were no threat to Madam S, who preferred to use people rather than dispose of them. The only clan head that she had to be wary of was Dausten Goolsby. To anyone who didn't know him, Goolsby was a charming, handsome man. Everyone involved in the underworld, however, knew better; the man could be as smarmy and manipulative as he was handsome. Madam S knew that, and he knew that she knew that. Goolsby sat silently on the other side of the room, one eye trained on the shouting match that had erupted and the other on her.

"ENOUGH!"

Every head turned towards the cushions. Still nursing her head, Madam S ran her hardened eyes over all in the room. She let her gaze linger at her dark-haired rival before returning it to the table, sighing before she stood to address her now captive audience.

"We will NOT take this... offer." The last word spoken with contempt.

Goolsby spoke up, his voice light and oily. "And you are the one to make decisions here because?"

Madam S regarded him with steely dark eyes.

"The Garagonians have been bullying us for decades, and we have resisted them for just as long. Successfully, might I add. Are you so keen to bend over for them now?"

"I remember a time when you would gladly bend over for anyone, Madam S."

And he was right, but her tone was dismissive when she replied, "Don't presume that I did anything gladly, Dausten. You know as well as I do what goes on in the Wernyian underworld, or do you not remember the Night of Shattered Glass?"

If Goolsby had been affected by that remark, his reaction would not be visible to the untrained eye. But Madam S, with decades of experience at reading people, saw the tightening of his jaw and the slight narrowing of his eyes. She smirked internally. 'Checkmate.'

"And do remember, my dear boy, that we have to deal with an empty Elector seat. That is much more worrisome than a simpering gang of Garagonians, don't you think?"

With that, Madam S whirled and glided out of the room. Not even Kenzo Tanaka was oblivious enough to miss the look of murderous intent in Goolsby's eyes. Everyone here knew that the Mistress of Pleasures was one step away from Elector. Or rather, Electress. And Dausten Goolsby would be damned before letting a woman, especially a woman like her, take the seat.

Madam S could feel their burning glares on the back of her skull, but she had matters to attend to. Puck and Kurt were waiting for instructions.

XXX

Being a soldier for the king was a shit job. If it weren't for the bribes, Jared Urun would have quit a long time ago. Maybe joined the smuggling business. Taking bribes from smugglers ain't so bad though, and he didn't have to do jack shit most of the time. Like tonight, patrolling the guard tower for Duke Gunther's home.

A light scratching noise piqued the sentry's interest, and thinking it was some rat or possum, he drew his sword and ambled on over to the other side of the tower. When he saw nothing, he cursed silently and turned around to return to the post. The last thing Jared Urun saw was a large hand covering his mouth before his throat was cleanly sliced.

Seveyl Uster was dressed to blend in with the night, covered head to toe in black and navy. Wiping his blade on the guard's tunic, he dropped the body noiselessly to the ground and leaped off the tower. 

'Six down, one to go.'

Landing stealthily, Seveyl made his way towards the main estate. Thirty minutes until the bodies in the tower would be discovered. Plenty of time.

Moving steadily, Seveyl ignored the closed doors of the servants' quarters. Loud, thumping grunts in the room to his right left no doubt to what its occupants were doing.

'Inconsequential.'

His target was the Duchess of Lindar. It would have been the Duke of Lindar, but Reagus Imnar changed his mind halfway through and decided to see if he could manipulate the man. Seveyl tried not to scoff.

Like Aldor Beriy Gunther can be manipulated easily, especially if his wife of 15 years was murdered. Still, he was a wetboy, a very good one, and wetboys never failed.

Before Seveyl could make his way to the duchess's quarters from the courtyard, his ears picked up the thump of footsteps from behind. Diving into the nearby garden alcove and crouching low, Seveyl could hear low baritone voices whispering in the night.

"My Lord, it is within your right to defy this, this utter insanity!"

The speaker was Harthor Rone. A towering, war-hardened man, General Harthor Rone controlled half the Western Army and was part of the reason why neighboring Merdeth had been afraid to invade for the past 40 years. It was unspoken knowledge that he also held control over parts of the Southwestern Cavalry as well, keeping the sporadically aggressive Lirdeans at bay.

"Watch your tongue, Harthor. It might be within my power, but it will never be in my right to rob my king of his throne!"

Duke Aldor Beriy Gunther was an equally, if not more, imposing figure than his counterpart, with a scruffy, graying beard and dark hair that scraped across his head. Unlike General Rone, who was all bulk and bulging muscle, Aldor Gunther was lean and sinewy, and he moved with assertive, forceful steps. He was commander in chief of the Northern Army and the Royal Navy. Merdeth, stretching along the western and northern borders of Cinuth, did not pose as much a threat along the northern front, when freezing winds and bloated ice floes served as a war buffer more often than not. Cinuth was most threatened by the powers to the east, facing the Daklen Ocean and the looming power of Garagon from across the waters.

If Duke Gunther planned rebellion, his life would end tonight. Though Seveyl had been hired to kill the Duchess, The Twelve wanted Aldor Gunther dead if he were to pose a problem to their plans.

"A king who does not deserve the throne in the first place, Aldor! You and I have both heard the rumors. Reagus Imnar practically slaughtered his way to power. His own brothers were not spared."

"And those were only rumors. No matter how much truth there is in that statement, there is no evidence to prove it. As much as it pains me to say, I have sworn an oath of fealty. I cannot forsake that."

Seveyl was torn. Sword drawn, body tensing itself to jump out and cleanly dispose of the two men, he struggled internally to control the warring fight or flight reactions his body was currently experiencing.

"And what about the most recent edicts? He aims to strip you of your power, you know he's always been threatened by your authority in the Eastern front. What the hell are we to do when, and I mean _when_, not if, the Garagonians invade our shores? Will your oath to that bastard of a king outweigh the lives of the people you have sworn to protect?"

Duke Gunther stopped in the middle of the courtyard and closed his eyes, letting out pained breath.

"...What have you heard about Garagon?"

Harthor sighed audibly, running a hand over his bald head. He regarded the Duke with dull eyes.

"Not much, but their armies and navies have been rallied. To an extent I've never seen before. They have zarwids by the quadrants. There were even several sightings of arcmages and warmages."

"No information as to how much?"

"None. Whatever spies we sent were only able to relay as much before we... lost communication. Indefinitely." Another sigh. "Aldor, we will all be massacred if this continues. If there is anything to be done–"

Duke Gunther shook his head, cutting the man off. From his perch Seveyl could see the weariness in his eyes.

"There isn't. We can do nothing but wait."

Seveyl sheathed his sword, waiting for the two men to pass before stepping from the alcove. A feeling of relief and dread mingle in his body. For the first time in his life as a wetboy, Seveyl Uster left a deader alive. The Twelve were not going to like this.

'That damned woman. She will be the death of me.'

XXX

Cinuthian architecture was, for a lack of better words, ugly. And cold. After centuries of warfare and conquest, stone and earth was all that survived. It was even worse in the slums. The walls were thick and grimy, made of large blocks of old stone that sometimes ran unevenly with each other, cracks of sunlight easily filtering through small crevasses. It trapped in heat during those unbearable summer nights and leaked frigid air from outside during the winters. Sometimes Santana wished they would have buildings like those in Shinza, with light wooden walls and rice paper screens. Or maybe the brilliant white marble of Merdethian architecture. Not that Santana knew, because she'd only heard the stories, but it sounded like it would look and feel a lot better than the cold, dirty floors she was currently sleeping on. Her only comfort was that Brittany was here, and they clutched each other for warmth in the gelid room.


End file.
